Freak's Love
by Caelistis.Rydraline
Summary: The war was years ago, and Draco's life has calmed down. When he first gets a present and 'love-note', he's rather flattered. His feelings quickly turn to horror as the gifts take on a rather unhealthier tone.


For the first time in months Draco Malfoy found himself flying through the silent corridors of his new home in the middle of the night; triple-checking the wards, taking a closer look at the windows and doors, not to mention the fireplaces. The newest 'gift' was smouldering in the main one. He shivered as he thought about its contents before turning almost desperately to the last of his wards. Draco wasn't sure if finding a weak spot would be bad at this point. At least it would give him some sort of explanation.

After a while, Draco thrust his wand back into a pocket, running his hands through his hair. With a soft whine, his ghost-like greyhound crept into view, bumping her nose against his leg. Still more than a little shaken, the blond dropped his hand, stroking the dog's head.

He had _no_ idea how the bloody things were getting into his house. It wasn't anything normal: by this point, he could see no way for it to be. They just… _appeared_.

Draco sunk to the floor, his concerned pet dropping down beside him. He'd thought he'd managed to leave this behind him. He'd left the bloody _country_ to get away from this. How the _hell_ had he found him?

At this point, if someone just came out and admitted it, Draco felt he would honestly let it go. Before? Not so much. He'd enjoyed many fantasies of dealing out his revenge upon whomever it was doing this. But now… If he could just have his life back, if he could go outside without feeling so _exposed_–

The first time, Draco had been flattered. It was just a little package sitting on the desk in his study, wrapped up in brown paper, tied carefully with white string. A yellow rose was beside it, already put into a tiny crystal vase by his house elf. It wasn't that he was _unused_ to having people love him, just… Well, it had been some time since it had happened, was all.

Inside the unassuming little package were a few things. At the very top was a little note, carefully written on black-edged parchment.

_"My dearest Draco,_

_I miss you. _

_It's difficult, being away from you so often. But life gets in the way, I suppose, and you're always so busy with your incredible work. I saw you yesterday, though. You look so beautiful in the moonlight._

_I saw this and thought of you. Not that you're ever far from my thoughts, but this just seemed perfect for you."_

The note had seemed rather strange, although Draco didn't think much of it. It _was_ for _him_, after all. He doubted if anyone completely in their right mind would be sending him flowers and gifts, regardless of how the masses seemed to have decided he had 'redeemed himself'. The script had seemed familiar somehow, but its place merely danced on the edge of his memory.

He still had no idea who had sent it. He had assumed it was someone who had been at the Healers' Night he had attended. At that point, even the _possibility_ of someone looking in on him at night had seemed absurd.

Putting that aside revealed a rather plain wooden box. Within was a necklace. Even as one of those who felt that most (bordering on 'all') necklaces were female-only, Draco admired its beauty, taking it gently from its satin cushion. On a paper-thin chain hung a dragon of twisted silver wire. A tiny emerald was set in place for its eye. It was something he would actually consider wearing, if he were honest. All the same, it had gone back into its box, and placed with the note and pictures in a drawer.

He didn't quite forget about it, even if part of its place in his mind was due to his not knowing what to do about it. Even at Hogwarts, when he had been faced with a similar circumstance, Draco had been able to find out who had sent whatever it was. At the very least there would be a short letter of thanks (and he was well aware of what that had done to some of the younger Slytherin girls). Manners were a part of the ever-important Pure-blood appearance, after all. But this… He had asked his house elves where it had come from, but none of them knew. Elly had told him that she had found it on the desk, and simply fixed the rose up. After a while, Draco had given in and asked some of his fellow Healers if they had any ideas, and had about the same amount of success.

It was a little under two weeks later that the second package appeared. Same place, same packaging, same rose.

_"You've been looking a little down lately, my dragon. I thought you could use these."_

Aside from the much shorter note, there was a single drawing included with the box of chocolates within. It was of Draco tapping his wand against a parchment in irritation – the very image of him earlier that week as he filled out patient forms. It was…odd. Yes, that was the word. Not the drawing itself, in fact that was quite good. But there was something about seeing himself drawn seemingly for no reason but to draw him…

Draco disposed of the chocolates, if somewhat reluctantly. He wasn't one to accept food from strangers. Especially strangers like this one. He didn't _mind_ exactly: this gift and the last had been rather sweet, if strange. But you couldn't be too careful, especially when it came to people who had been involved in the war. The note and picture joined the others in the drawer, though. Draco wasn't entirely sure why he was keeping them.

Things quieted down a little after that. He still got the occasional note from whoever it was, showing up both at his home and at work. Somehow none of his colleagues managed to notice who had dropped them off. Still, it was difficult to be irritated with them, especially with the notes. For the most part they were sweet, and although Draco would never admit it to anyone, he enjoyed the adoration within them. There was something about the degree of devotion they had…

That wasn't to say that they didn't border on unsettling at times. He had received a few that were oddly personal, even for them. It was always just little comments, written in such an offhand way, and that was part of it. That it was so casual. As if their author was watching him constantly, yet had no qualms about it.

And then there were the pictures. At first they were drawings much like the first one: Draco working, drinking coffee in his Healer's Robes, walking his dog, and one of him sleeping. He had been a bit unsettled by that last one. It wasn't anything about the picture, just that he was sleeping…

Another healer had popped by earlier that day, as well, just after he had found it. He had asked if his girlfriend had drawn it. Private lives were private, and Draco couldn't fault him for his assumption. The fact that that had been his first thought unnerved him, though.

So, yes, the drawings were a bit unsettling. That he could deal with easily. The notes were harmless enough, and he could ignore the stranger ones. But the photographs…

They had just started appearing one day. One day, sketches. The next, enchanted photographs.

None of them were powerfully enchanted. Maybe as much as the Prophet's, just looping through a small moment. But there was something downright disturbing about seeing himself laughing with Blaise as he walked across the street from the photographer, or speaking with his assistant as he did so often. Perhaps it was simply the fact that they were all snapshots. Not one of them a proper photograph, where the subjects are aware of their place. Because not one of those photographs had been taken with his permission. And he wasn't looking at the camera in a single one.

More gifts were appearing in his home, as well. Given how well warded the Malfoy Manor was, he had no idea how they were getting in. These weren't any different than the first ones he had received; they were all just trinkets, or the occasional chocolate. But in light of everything else he was being sent, he couldn't help but feel more than a twinge of unease when he saw them. Because they clearly were from the same person.

As the disturbing presents continued to find their way into his home and office, Draco found himself becoming more and more agitated. He wasn't sleeping well; he didn't eat much, if at all. He would alternate between spending countless hours at work, and then stay home for days at a time, trying to catch the delivery of one of the gifts. After a while, he was at work only as long as he needed to be, returning to the Manor quickly to recheck the wards and search the rooms for any evidence of his 'admirer'. He never found anything but the notes and their accompanying gifts.

The tone of the notes became more concerned the more Draco stayed at home, and somehow they seemed to be coming more frequently. More than once, Draco considered going to the Aurors about it. Surely it was justified? But he wouldn't. He valued his dignity, and if word got out that he was frightened of some little love letters and pictures, well…

What had finally sent him to the Aurors sounded harmless enough when he said it. He had woken to find a lit candle on his bedside table. That wasn't the whole of it, of course, but when he'd seen the thing was when he had made up his mind.

Draco had dressed in a hurry, heading directly to the main room to floo to the Ministry. Lucy was hot on his heels, more skittish than normal as she picked up on his discomfort, and she crashed into him when he skidded to a halt in the doorway. On the table to the right of the fireplace sat a steaming cup of coffee and a buttered croissant. Draco could see the note beside them.

He approached warily, examining it all before taking the note.

_"Good morning, dearest._

_I know how early you have to get up, and how infrequently you make yourself anything to eat. You never eat that much, anyway, though, so I didn't make much._

_Take care of yourself today, my dragon, and remember that I'm thinking of you."_

Feeling slightly ill, Draco vanished the breakfast, keeping the note. He had the rest to show as well, if need be, but keeping this newest one with him might help to speed things up.

The Aurors had responded to him kindly enough, to Draco's relief. For the most part, the general public wanted to forget about the war, it seemed, and although people like Draco were often still ostracized, the past wasn't really brought up. When Draco had explained what was happening to him, and showed the Auror he was speaking with the note, he had been followed back home for a look at the others, along with the sketches and photographs. From there, the process had been long, but not overly difficult, and Draco gratefully accepted the decision to post guards outside of his house for a time.

The notes came less frequently after that, and showed up more often at work. Draco found his house was steadily becoming the only place he really felt safe. He felt an immense relief every time he glanced out the window and saw a figure or two across the street, and every time he entered a room without seeing a note or package. Everything he had kept from the previous gifts was gone now, taken by the Aurors for their investigation, and Draco only now noticed the heavy presence they had had.

By mid-January, it seemed like Draco's 'admirer' was somewhat distressed by the fact that he couldn't access the house anymore. Things were showing up more and more when Draco was at work, and they were a constant distraction. The notes again were filled with a concerned tone, though the Aurors were never brought up. The author seemed to merely be concerned with Draco's health as he once again began to withdraw from his work. The Aurors hadn't been able to figure out how they were sent, or who was sending them.

By early February he had taken time off work. He had been at home for a little over a week, and he had no idea when he would be going back. According to the Aurors, the notes hadn't been appearing, though. It was as if the sender was waiting for him to return. Trying to comfort himself, Draco peered out the window. One of his Auror guards sat on a bench across the street, looking for all the world like a muggle as he smoked and fiddled with some electronic device. He didn't know who it was, just that it was his evening guard. The only reason he knew it _was_ an Auror was because Shaklebolt had thought to give him descriptions to prevent any thoughts of his Aurors being the one stalking him as they waited outside.

_Stalking_.

With a shiver, Draco left the window, sitting on the rug with Lucy to be closer to the fire.

It sounded like such a muggle thing. He wasn't that well informed on crime history, but he could only actually remember one occurrence of stalking in the Wizarding World. Surely there were more, but only this one came to mind. It had been ages ago, before his father had even been at Hogwarts. It had just been some wizard who fell in love with some witch he met. Merlin knew why he'd resorted to _stalking_ the girl, but Draco wasn't a mind healer - that was out of his area. He wasn't particularly bothered about the why, anyway. Not right now.

But that wizard… Draco remembered the story mostly because of its ending. The wizard had stolen the girl away after a while, and for the longest time no one could find them. But when they finally did, they found him cheerfully serving her tea. She was slumped in a chair, barely conscious, with deep wounds on her stomach and chest that were stitched (_stitched_!) back together oh so messily. She told them later that he had wanted to know if she knew how much he loved her. That he didn't think she understood. He wanted to _show_ her how much he loved her. Inside and out. Even the bits he couldn't see.

Draco rose, moving to the kitchen for some tea. There were no house elves here. It was safer that way. They made the Manor look inhabited still. He would have made the tea himself even if they had been here, though; he needed _something_ to distract himself from the images in his mind. Images of himself, practically falling out of his chair while a faceless man made a merry tea party in his shadows. Images of his stomach cut open, of hands _lovingly_ pulling his intestines out. Of hands stroking _so gently_ as they moved to his heart, the fingers slipping past the ribs –

The sharp whistling of the kettle brought him out of his morbid imaginings. Determinedly ignoring the trembling of his hand, he prepared his tea and returned to the front room to sit with Lucy again.

There was something about sitting there with her, drinking his tea and staring into the fire. The tea was really the trick, though. It was so perfect for relaxing, for calming himself down. It actually made him sleepy. _There_ was something, to be sure. He hadn't actually _wanted_ to sleep since the photographs had started coming. Yes, there really was something to be said for the tea…

Draco blinked, shaking his head. His vision swam as his eyes tried to close again. He was so _tired_. His near empty mug started slipping from his fingers, and he only just caught it. He set it on the floor next to him, leaning back against a chair, his eyes closing of their own volition.

He didn't want to sleep. Merlin knew what that freak would do if he managed to find him like this.

Draco managed to open his eyes, but he couldn't focus on anything. He could feel his eyes rolling as he tried in vain to keep them open.

He couldn't fall asleep…

Draco woke only when the sun managed to slide through the tiny crack in his curtains to reach his eyes. Groaning, he turned, not wanting to leave the warmth of his bed for the world of the waking. It was so much easier -

His bed.

He shot up, looking around wildly. But there was nothing. His curtains were almost closed, his door was shut, and nothing was out of place. His wand sat on a note on his bedside table. Draco grabbed it warily.

_"You need to sleep sometimes, dearest. It's not healthy if you don't. You should know that, being a Healer. You also really shouldn't fall asleep like that. You'll hurt your neck. I'm sorry I let you sleep in your clothes, but I didn't want to wake you._

_I took Lucy out for a walk while you were asleep. She looked like she could use the exercise, and you looked like you could use your sleep. Please try to get more sleep, my dragon. If you hurt yourself out of exhaustion I don't know what I would do."_

Draco crushed the parchment in his fist and threw it across the room, shouting in frustration. He took a moment to gather himself, then retrieved the parchment and stormed out of his room. That bastard had been in his house, he had _drugged_ _his_ _tea_ and _put_ _him_ _to_ _bed_ while he had an Auror stationed outside his house to _prevent_ this?

He'd barely taken three steps down the hallway when he actually registered what else the letter had said.

"Lucy? _Lucy_?" Draco called out frantically, running through the halls. The greyhound poked her head out of the kitchen door as he approached it, and he sighed in relief. She padded over to him, poking him with her nose. Draco obligingly stroked her, beginning to calm down.

"C'mon. Let's go see what the hell the damn Aurors think they're doing while that bloody _freak_ is waltzing in and out." Draco scowled, shaking his head and tightening his fist around the parchment.

The Aurors didn't do much, in his opinion. Draco had sent his Patronus out to speak to his guard, who had immediately come inside. From there, he'd used the floo to call his superior, and when _he_ had finally arrived, the two merely searched his house before declaring that there was nothing to be found. Then they apologized, and made plans to station more guards. Then they had left.

After a halfhearted attempt to comfort Lucy (she was a rather simple dog, and having two brusque Aurors running around the house was stressful to her), Draco moved mechanically to his room, heading straight for his bathroom. He could hear Lucy sniffing curiously at various things in his room and locked the door behind him.

When he undressed, Draco didn't immediately notice that it was not his mother's enchanted sword pendant around his neck. He froze in front of the mirror, reaching up to the wire dragon that rested on his chest. With a shaking hand (from fear or anger he didn't know), he tore the necklace away, hardly noticing as the thin chain cut at his neck before snapping. The crumpled dragon was thrown into a corner, and Draco refused to acknowledge it as he walked into the shower.

It wasn't until he was drying his hair that he noticed the small spot behind his ear where hit had been cut. It was hardly anything, and wouldn't be noticeable, but gone it was.

Lucy whined, scratching lightly at the door. Draco opened it calmly, keeping his face empty, his emotions distant, as he sank to the floor bedside it, leaning against the wall. He refused to show any emotion at all, letting out only a shuddering breath when Lucy licked his face as he tried desperately to keep his feelings from taking hold.

He didn't feel safe in his own house.

Draco had been thoroughly looking into the process of moving when Pansy arrived. Her presence was unexpected and (to be perfectly honest) unwanted. He had been looking over different Malfoy properties, comparing them with simpler properties for sale in the Prophet, trying to determine where would be a better hiding place. And then the pounding on his door had begun. Draco had almost flown into a panic, until he realized that it was unlikely the Auror stationed outside his house would have let just anyone waltz up to his front door.

Courtesy dictated that Draco let her in, and so, grudgingly, he did. He hadn't seen Pansy much since they had left school, which she was quick to remind him of. Merlin, but she could talk! There was a part of him that gladly embraced the tedium of sitting and drinking tea with the witch. It felt normal. But there was a larger part of him still that was screaming to get back to his plans to hide.

When she finally left, Draco went immediately to his researching. He sat in his study for hours, Lucy providing him with much appreciated company. Late in the afternoon, a Patronus had appeared in the room, the tiger informing him that the Auror outside had actually managed to catch the appearance of one of the packages. Draco had flown downstairs, hoping desperately for answers.

He found the Auror standing in the front room, the already unwrapped package on the table

There was a note (with what presumably was a picture beneath) and a box. Draco took the parchments first, allowing the Auror to cast his various revealing spells on the box as he read through the letter.

_"My dearest Draco,_

_Do you miss me as much as I do you? Does the separation hurt you as much as it does me? I hope not. Nothing should ever hurt you, my precious dragon._

_Are you ill, my dragon? You haven't been to work for so long. Please, rest and get well. You needn't let everyone through your door, especially when you are sick and the person in question is nothing but a filthy whore. You're too kind to them, but it **is **one of the things I love so much about you. Don't worry, though, my love. I have made sure she won't bother you. You don't need her kind hanging off of you, regardless of your health."_

Draco frowned. It wasn't that he opposed to calling Pansy any such names: her usual behaviour certainly did nothing to counteract the rumours going around about her. The note sounded somewhat dangerous upon speaking of her, though. Pansy may have been incredibly irritating, but still...

He pulled the picture from beneath it, stiffening in shock and feeling a blush creep up on his cheeks when he saw it. This one, like the others, had been captured in incredible realism, though he found it difficult to appreciate the talent in view of the subject matter. In it, he was sprawled upon a chaise lounge, completely naked, with just the ghost of a smile on his lips.

Draco crumpled it, painfully aware of his flaming cheeks as he dropped the note back onto the table. The balled-up picture was thrust into his pocket. The Auror did _not_ need to see that. He looked at him expectantly when he finished his spell.. When the box was opened, they both recoiled: a woman's hand sat upon a now-bloodstained cushion.

Draco remained in the Manor for less than a week after that. The second he found a suitable home, he had informed the head Auror of his intentions in private. She had agreed to send someone to add extra security. Draco moved immediately after, leaving most of his things behind. The only things he took was what he could move easily and magically – he refused to take anything outside. Gods willing, the only people who would know of the move would be the Aurors signed to guard him. He'd even managed to bring Lucy via portkey, though she'd been even more skittish than usual afterwards.

And now it had started again. Not from scratch, like one should with a potion, no. It had started from a previous setting of insanity.

There was a click, like a door shutting quietly, and Draco crept down the hallway. It was either the Auror or whoever had sent the package. He wasn't sure which he wanted.

When he reached the front room, Draco found the Auror standing there, staring at the now blazing fire. He sighed in relief, the irritation at how long the man had taken following fast.

"Thank Merlin. You took your time getting in here. There was another one - another one of those _things_. It just appeared in the – "

"I know."

"Well, did you find any evidence of who sent the bloody thing?" Draco cringed at his own poor choice of words. He didn't need the reminders.

"You burned it." Almost a question. He sounded…confused. There was something familiar about the man's voice, but Draco couldn't quite place it.

"Yes, I burned it!" Draco was practically shouting at this point. "You think I wanted that fucking thing in here? If you hadn't gone out for tea before getting in here, you would have seen what was in it! Or maybe you could have actually caught the freak who sent it!"

"A heart." The Auror turned slowly, fiddling with his wand as his glamour faded. He was staring down at his hands, frowning.

"Potter…?" Draco wasn't entirely sure why he was so surprised. He had known that Potter had gone on to become an Auror, and from the sound of it, he was a damn good one. And Harry Potter wouldn't exactly go unnoticed sitting on a bench in the middle of the street.

"It was a heart. And a letter." He looked up, meeting Draco's eyes. "That _bloody thing_ was a _heart_. But I suppose if a _freak_ sent it, well, gotta kill it with fire, hey? There might be something wrong with it. Did you even bother to read it?"

Draco merely stared at him as he tried to understand what was happening. This couldn't possibly be Potter. Harry Potter wasn't someone who sent his former enemy love notes and gifts and human hearts. And if he was, well, surely someone would have noticed it. He was the saviour of the Wizarding World, the leader of the Golden Trio. He was an Auror, for Merlin's sake!

He was also regarding Draco rather curiously. When he stepped forward, Draco moved back, hitting the door behind him. Without a word, Potter raised his wand. Even as Draco moved to do the same, his wand went flying from his hand, landing safely in his opponent's.

"You? You sent all of … _that_ to me."

"Don't you pretend you didn't know." There was a dull 'crack', and Draco's broken wand was thrown distractedly to the side. "Then again, that's what you're best at, isn't it? Pretending. _Lying_."

Draco took a step forward, raising his hands as he tried to begin some sort of explanation. Potter didn't even move his wand. There was just a whispered "incarcerous'.

He crashed to the floor, his knees colliding with the wood painfully. Potter regarded him for a moment before kneeling gracefully before him. He raised a hand, trailing his fingers over Draco's cheek, taking in every detail of the blonde's face. After a moment, Potter leaned in as if to kiss him, but then he stopped, resting his forehead on Draco's instead.

"I…I never really thought…I mean, the Aurors were always talking about it, but… They asked _me_ to make this place unplottable. Asked me to hide you from the world. To protect you. To _watch_ _over_ _you_. All the while acting like this was a _crime_. As if my love for you was something _wrong_." The expression on Harry's face was almost empty as he kept his green eyes on Draco. "And all this time I thought you –" he choked back a sob, turning away for a brief moment before lunging at the Slytherin, grasping his shoulders painfully. "You never meant any of it, did you? Even your promise. Did it mean that little to you?"

"I don't –"

"I thought it was a mistake, before. When they came in, talking about what had happened. I assumed they had misheard you, or made stupid guesses based on fractional amounts of evidence. When I saw what they had I thought they'd taken it from you. That's why I brought it back, brought back the little things I found for you, the things I made you. I thought you liked them. But they're from the _freak_. Any love of his is _worthless_. It's _filthy_ and _wrong_, isn't it?"

Draco was frozen against the door, unable to think of anything to say as Potter stared at him, his green eyes filled with betrayal as his tears spilled onto his cheeks. He moved to Draco's side, wrapping his arms around him and burying his face in his hair.

"Are the lies worth it? They hurt. Oh, they _hurt_." Draco wasn't entirely sure that Potter was speaking to him, now. The arms around him tightened as the brunet continued. "_She_ seemed to think they were. She lived with him for _years_, dragon. And she knew. She knew Riddle only loved her because of the potion. Maybe that was why she stopped. Trying to stop the pain. I wonder if Tom knew that. Do you think he did, dragon? Knew how much his mother hurt?"

Draco managed a whispered 'I don't know' in response, though whether or not it was heard and understood was debatable. He had no idea what Potter was talking about. Something to do with the Dark Lord, he'd picked that much up.

Potter was suddenly clutching him desperately, sobbing. "You don't feel it, do you? You can't feel how much they hurt." And then Draco found himself alone, Potter having shoved him away as he rose. "Do you even _care_? Or does my pain mean nothing to you? I would give you _anything_, and you – "

Draco struggled into a sitting position, keeping his eyes on the maddened wizard standing before him.

"It never stopped hurting her, dragon. She let him go, and he went away and found someone else. And she had to watch him. And _Tom_. Even if he was just a _thought_. He was still Riddle's, and I could see, dragon, I could see how it all was hurting her. But she took it. She lived through it." He was looking almost desperately at Draco now, as if he was begging him to understand. "I'm not as strong as her. If I could have the lies back I would take them, dragon. But now that I know, I can't have them back. I could be with you forever now, but I would suffer it. Like you." The wizard was on his knees beside him again, cradling the blonde's face in his hands as he whispered "And all I can do is make it stop for both of us." With that he moved forward, pressing their lips together. Draco leaned into the kiss, hoping wildly that playing along, playing into whatever fantasy world the brunet was in would get him out of this. Potter scrambled back, pushing Draco away.

"Stop it. Stop trying to play with my mind. It won't work. I _will_ make it stop. _I will._" He turned away, pulling at his hair.

"I – Hold on, Po – _Harry_." The wizard whirled around, anger flashing in his eyes.

"No. You're not getting out of it like that."

"Please, Harry, just give me a minute to exp-" Potter's wand flew to his throat, and Draco fell silent.

"After everything, after all the _lies_ – I'm not – No. You're not going to keep lying to keep yourself out of this, now." He looked so _broken_, standing there, watching him. Even when Draco had seen him after the Battle, after the deaths of so many, he had never seen the same shattered loss.

He was examining his wand now, standing so still, except for his hands, twisting and turning the thin piece of wood.

"I love you, Draco. I really do. But there – there's nothing left, if you don't – It won't hurt. You know I would never hurt you, dragon." Potter closed his eyes, drawing shuddering breaths as he tried to calm himself.

"Harry, please, just think-"

"I love you."

"_Please."_

"_Avada Kedavra."_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Well. That certainly was cheery, wasn't it? It's far more interesting that Political Science, at any rate. XD

Reviews would be lovely! ^.^

Yours 'till death,

Madisson.


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